


You're My Religion

by transdamen



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Amanda is their mom, Catholic Guilt, Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings, Criticism of Catholicism, Explicit Sexual Content, Family Issues, Grief, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Transphobia, M/M, Past Character Death, Priest AU, Trans Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Trans Male Character, Trans Porn by Trans People, Transmasc Proofread, Transmasculine Language Used, Transphobia, Vague/Briefly Mentioned Suicide Attempt and Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2019-10-22 17:22:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17666843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transdamen/pseuds/transdamen
Summary: He hears the door ring as it’s opened and turns his head to see a young man saunter in, confidence seeping through and permeating the atmosphere of the bar. Despite the confidence, Hank can see a ghost of something in his eyes, a sadness. He can’t tell, because the kid walks past him to wave over the bartender with a flirty wave.The boy is way too pretty for his own good. And from the way he moves, the kid knows it too.A HankCon Priest AU





	1. Unholy

_Don’t say it’s unholy_

_If I let you come hold me_

_I know it’s wrong that I want to be here in your arms_

_But tonight, I’m so lonely_

“Unholy” – Hey Violet

 

Hank can remember it clearly, every moment that led up to the crash. And that’s the problem. He doesn’t want to remember. He wants to forget. Forget the smell of gasoline and smoke and bitter cold air. He can still hear the wet cough that Cole had given before crying out for him. Hank had stayed frozen for so long, too long. He couldn’t face what mess had been left of Cole. He couldn’t comprehend it. Only moments before they were singing along to a song on the radio, and for a split second the headlights of another car flashed across his vision before the world went black.

Hank knocked back another drink, focusing on the sting of it instead of the cries echoing in his ear. He pointedly ignored the shaking of his hand. He was only a couple drinks in, and way too sober for his liking. He needed to numb the pain before it became too much to bear.

He had to conduct mass tomorrow for Christ’s sake, he needed to get his shit together and _not_ show up hung over. But with the anniversary of Cole’s death rapidly approaching, he couldn’t bring himself to stay sober.

A week from now and it’d be five years since the one person he’d cared about was taken from him. Ripped from this cruel fucking world too soon. Besides his job, nothing really gave him purpose anymore. Maybe he was being a little bitter, but he had every right to be. He had nothing left in this world to live for, besides his mutt dog back home. He should probably get up and get home, but he feels glued to his chair, the weight of his grief weighing him down.

He hears the door ring as it’s opened and turns his head to see a young man saunter in, confidence seeping through and permeating the atmosphere of the bar. Despite the confidence, Hank can see a ghost of something in his eyes, a sadness. He can’t tell, because the kid walks past him to wave over the bartender with a flirty wave.

The boy is way too pretty for his own good. And from the way he moves, the kid knows it too. His lithe body leaning against the bar, tight jeans straining against his ass in a way that can only be intentional. Hank watches the kid flutter his eyelashes at the poor, over-worked bartender. A fake laugh can be heard from where Hank sits a few feet away, and he has to resist the urge to roll his eyes at the sight of the young man pouting his lips as the bartender declines to buy him a drink.

The kid moves on to his next target, a middle-aged man who is three whiskeys in deep and looking worse for wear. Judging by the ring on his finger, the guys probably dealing with marriage problems. The last thing he needs is some twink pressing for free drinks.

The kid knows his scene at least, knows how to work the crowd. The way he moves, he knows exactly what’ll get these married men to fall to their knees. Hank shifts uncomfortably in his seat, turning forward to not watch the game on the tv overhead. Since when does this bar show baseball?

He can’t help but listen in on what the kid is saying to the guy.

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” The guy slurs to the boy, seeming to revel in the attention he’s getting. It’s pathetic.

“I’m new here, well, not super new,” The kid explains, leaning an elbow on the bar to get closer. “I grew up here, came back from college. Just looking for some fun.” The laugh he gives after is clearly fake, too forced and makes his scratchy voice appear even more so.

“Well, I’m sure my wife wouldn’t mind if I show you a good time,”

Jimmy walks up to the pair from behind the bar, sighing. “John, go home to your wife. Ignore Connor, he’s just looking for free drinks.”

The middle-aged man, John, grumbles and stumbles out the door a moment later. The kid sits at the bar with a defeated sigh, mumbling under his breath.

“I’m not a kid,”

Hank laughs out loud at that, getting the kids attention. He looks over at Hank with a narrowed glance, and it reminds Hank of a growling puppy.

“If you’re not a kid, then why not buy your own drinks?” Hank asks, knocking back the remainder of his drink. Why is he talking to the kid? He needs to go home, get drunker in the peace of his own place.

“I’m broke,” He announces, slumping forward. “Hence the hassling for free drinks.”

Hank smirks, shaking his head as he stares at the bottom of his glass. He doesn’t need to wave over Jimmy for a refill, he’s already there with the bottle.

“It’s way past your bedtime,” Hank teases, Jesus what is he doing? He needs to leave. Instead, he watches the kid make his way over, sit down right next to Hank.

“I could say the same thing about you, old man,” The kid’s sharp, and has quite the mouth on him.

“I’m not that old,” Hank mumbles, sipping at his glass. His back is starting to ache with how he’s hunched over the bar. It’s making him feel older than he actually is.

“Buy me a drink, and maybe I’ll rescind that observation,” He bats his eyelashes for extra effect, and Hank’s got to admit, it does work. The kid’s got big brown eyes, like a doe. Framed with dark lashes that flutter as he smiles charmingly at Hank. Hank feels something turn in the pit of his stomach, and he can’t help but glance down at his lips. His bottom lip is red from biting at it, and his thin upper lip sets softly on the bottom. At Hank’s glance, his mouth quirks up in a smirk, an invitation.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Hank waves over Jimmy and listens idly as the kid, Connor was it?, orders a couple beers, sounding a little too much like a kid who just won a prize at the fair.

“So, I haven’t seen you around here before. Though you do look familiar.” Connor notes, sipping at his beer as he turns to face Hank.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

Connor shrugs, continues sipping his beer and looking at Hank expectedly.

Hank sighs. “I’m a frequent here, ask Jimmy. You’re new in town, I can tell by how you treat the regulars here. Usually, everyone keeps to themselves, but you haven’t gotten the hint yet.”

Connor laughs, a quiet scratchy sound. “Not new, unfortunately. I am all too familiar with this filthy city.” His voice rings hollow towards the end of his sentence, and he stares at the bottom of his bottle for a moment too long before moving on to the next beer. “I came back home from college, decided to spend some time with my mom. Not that it’s been welcoming so far. Figured I’d finally check out the bars in the city, now that I’m finally old enough.”

Oh Jesus, the kid is young. If he’s straight out of college, he can’t be a day over 24. God, what is he doing in a seedy place like this? Hanging out with pervy old men like himself.

_You’re 44, not 80._

Still, with the way Connor looks, a youthful glow still about his face and not a shred of stubble on his chin; it definitely makes Hank feel like a million years old.

“Well, you have a bad taste in bars. There are a lot of less shady places to get a drink around here,” Hank could use another drink. He really shouldn’t though. He needs to conduct mass tomorrow and dealing with a hangover will only make it worse.

“Maybe you can show me them sometime,” Connor is leaning in closer, getting up in Hank’s personal space and he hates to admit that it has some effect on him. He should go home, get some sleep. But God, if those aren’t the prettiest brown eyes he’s seen in a while.

Hank huffs, pulling back a little bit to shake it head, nearly missing the disappointment the runs across the kids’ face.

“You could do a lot better than some old guy like me,”

“I don’t think we know each other enough to go judging the other’s types,” Connor notes, taking another sip with a raise of his eyebrow.

Hank can’t help but laugh at that, can’t help but watch the way Connor watches his mouth with a pleasure smirk. “Are you saying I’m your type?”

Connor hums, resting his elbow on a counter and propping his chin up on his hand. “I mean, if we’re going to go there, then yeah. I do usually go for the bear type.”

Immediately, Hank’s face heats up and he chokes on air. “Jesus Christ, kid. Give a guy a warning before you go saying shit like that.”

Connor laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he grins at Hank. Hank wouldn’t admit it in a million years, but the kid is exactly his type too.

“So, what do you say? How would you like the rest of your evening to go?”

Hank takes a deep breath, watches the way Connor sips his beer. How his slender throat looks swallowing. Oh boy.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything, very casual, one and done.”

It’s killing Hank, how casual the kid is making this sound. Fuck. He’s not a kid. He’s an adult. It’s just a one-night stand, right? Detroit’s got a lot of people, the chances that he’ll see the guy again are relatively slim. There’s no harm in finding a new way to forget all his demons. Connor’s obviously hiding from something too. No sane person his age is out on a Saturday night looking for free drinks from men that are either twice his age, married, or both.

Guess they could both use the distraction.

Hank watches Connor finish off his beer and set it down on the counter with an air of finality. Connor licks the beer of his lips, looking at Hank with an analyzing look. It’s making Hank sweat, being under his gaze. Jesus, who knew the kid would be so damn intimidating. It’s either that or the fact that Hank hasn’t really been with anyone in a while. Not since before--.

“I’m gonna go catch cab, before it gets too late,” Connor’s eyes are downcast as he stands, and he turns towards Jimmy to nod a farewell. “It was nice meeting you, handsome stranger. Maybe someday we’ll run into each other again, and you won’t be so afraid to raise to a challenge.”

His fingers brush against Hank’s shoulder as he leaves, and it feels like a jolt of electricity just shot through him. He listens to the bell on the door ring twice as it’s opened and closed. Hank stays cemented to his seat for a good ten seconds, mind racing as he thinks everything through. Finally, he gets up, throwing a couple twenties down on the counter before heading out the door and into the rain. Fuck it. What could go wrong?

 

He finds Connor outside, walking towards a waiting cab and Hank rushes toward him. “Connor, wait!”

At the sound of his name, Connor turns around, hands in his pockets and a smug smile on his face that both irritates and turns Hank on.

“You change your mind?”

Hank shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. “I don’t really have anything to lose.”

Connor grins and Hank can feel the burn of attraction deep in his stomach. Maybe it’s the booze. God, he hopes it’s the booze.

Connor walks closer to him, and Hank can feel the warmth coming off of him in waves. The tension grows as they get closer to each other, and Hank has to resist the urge to reach out and pull him closer. At least not in front of the taxi driver. At that moment, it starts to rain. Not a light sprinkle, no, they aren’t fortunate enough for that. It starts to pour down on them and they watch, soaking wet, as the cab driver gets sick of waiting and drives off.

A moment passes between them as they stand there in the rain, getting wetter by the minute. And then, Connor laughs. Not the soft shit like back in the bar, no. A full on laugh. Hank’s standing close enough that he can feel it in his chest, the way Connor laughs and laughs as they get soaked by the dirty rain of Detroit. It’s contagious, his laugh. Hank can feel his lips twitch and soon he’s joining Connor in a fit of laughter. His voice sounds rougher, more used, and honestly, he can’t remember the last time he laughed like this.

They’re both still laughing, even as Connor pulls him along and presses him into the wall of an alleyway by Jimmy’s Bar. Hank feels his breath leaving his body as Connor looks up at him, water droplets clinging to his long eyelashes. Jesus, who needs eyelashes that long?

Connor laughs, and well, Hank guesses that he said that out loud.

“You’re just—ya know, really fucking gorgeous,” Nice job Hank, there goes your dignity. Fucking hell.

Connor laughs that sinful laugh again and leans into Hank. He can smell Connor’s shampoo, something clean and fruity. It’s cute.

“You’re not too bad yourself--?” Connor looks puzzled for a moment before shaking his head. “You never told me your name.”

Hank hesitates, not exactly eager to give his name to someone who could track his face back to the church.

“It’s okay,” Connor reassures him, voice soft even over the pouring rain. “You don’t have to tell me.”

Hank is grateful for that and tries to express as much but Connor interrupts him.

“I’m going to kiss you now, if that’s okay.”

And by Gods, it’s more than okay.

Their lips meet in a heated clash and Hank can taste Connor’s moan as he licks along his bottom lip. The kid tastes like shitty malt beer and cigarettes, and Hank wonders why it’s so addicting. His thoughts change course, though, when Connor gets his hands in Hank’s wet hair and _pulls_. Hank can’t stop the rough groan from escaping his lips as Connor pulls him down closer and presses his entire body against Hank’s. Hank can feel heat building up, low in his stomach as he nips and bites at Connor’s lips. The sounds Connor is making are downright _filthy_. Hank needs to get a better handle on this before he cums in his pants like a goddamn teenager.

He flips their positions, careful not to have Connor hit his head on the brick wall. Connor _mewls_ as Hank uses his height and greater mass to crowd him flush against the wall. Jesus, as if Connor couldn’t have already been such a twink.

 _I am going to hell_ , Hank thinks to himself as he places open mouthed kisses along Connor’s freckled neck. Connor shivers into it, tightly clutching at Hank’s shoulders. He hooks at leg around Hank’s waist and pulls him closer to grind against him, and Hank thinks that he might be okay with going to hell, if it means he gets this.

Something sharp jabs into his chest just as he starts rutting against Connor like an animal. He winces and pulls back to watch Connor lift a rosary from underneath his shirt. He stares at it for a moment, heart pounding hard in his chest. The pale white of the beads appears bright in the dim light of the alleyway, and the light from a nearby post makes the metal of the cross glint and sparkle. Hank has enough time to swallow a swear before Connor is tucking it away into the pocket of his jeans.  
Hank doesn’t have enough time to comment on it, or maybe even mention that he’s a fucking priest before Connor is back to licking into the heat of his mouth.

He ignores the warning signs that are going off in the back of his head, and instead focuses on the way Connor is kissing him. The flare of heat in his gut is back with a vengeance and he can’t help the way his hips move forward into Connor’s.

His movements feel sluggish, with the way his clothes are soaked through. He should feel a chill, but with Connor pressing closing into him, all he can feel is the heat. He is getting absolutely no relief with the useless way they are rocking into each other, and he voices his frustration.

“This ain’t really the best way to get off,” His voice sounds rough, like he just swallowed a bunch of pebbles.

Connor laughs sweetly into Hanks mouth and lowers his leg so he’s steady on his feet. “Here, switch me places.”

Hank complies with whatever it is that Connor is planning and leans back against the wall. Connor looks up at Hank for a moment, lips parted, and pupils blown wide.

Hank watches as Connor slowly drops to his knees, somehow managing to maintain eye contact the whole way down.

Hank can’t help the rough “Fuck,” that leaves his mouth at the sight. He feels like his heart is going to pound right out of his chest; God he’s getting too old for back alley blowjobs.

“Is this okay?” Connor asks, his hands on the waistband of Hank’s pants. Hank manages a quick nod before Connor is unzipping his pants and pulling his dick out of his boxers.

“Holy shit,” Connor blurts out, eyes wide. “You’re fucking hung, oh my god.”

Hank can’t even process the embarrassment and arousal he feels when he hears that, can’t even voice his thought that they should probably use a condom, because in the next moment Connor is licking a stripe up his shaft and oh wow now he’s seeing stars.

Connor fucking _moans_ as he sucks on the tip, one hand down his own pants and Hank would protest that he’s being a shitty partner, but he can’t think past the heat of Connor’s mouth. Hank watches, enraptured, as Connor bobs his head slowly, mouth opening wider as he slides his mouth down Hank’s dick.

“Jesus fuck,” Hank pants, because already he’s way too close to cumming, and the way Connor is looking up at him with those big brown eyes is _definitely_ not helping.

Connor grabs one of Hank’s hands and places it on his own head, encouraging Hank to thread his fingers through the soft brown tresses. Connor moans even louder as Hank gives an experimental tug, swearing under his breath.

Hank really isn’t going last long at this rate, with the way Connor pulls back to spit into his hand before stroking Hank within an inch of his life. God, this really isn’t how he had planned to spend his evening, but he doesn’t dare complain.

Connor pushes his own head down further and Hank can feel the tip of his dick hit the back of Connor’s throat. He chokes back a groan as the wet heat tightens around him, holy fuck does he even have a gag reflex?

He gets his answer a moment later, when Connor abruptly gags and pulls back to cough. Hank opens his mouth to apologize (for what? His huge dick? Jesus) but stops as he watches Connor go back to bobbing his head without a pause. Oh? Hank can hear his own breathing getting heavier as he feels the head of his dick hit the back of Connor’s throat again. Once more Connor gags, but he just keeps going like he’ll die if he doesn’t suck the fucking soul out of Hank’s dick. Hank can’t help but stare at the drool and precum covering Connor’s chin and dribbling out of the corner of his mouth. Holy fuck. The heat he feels is building up, and he really isn’t going to last much longer.

“Connor,” He grits out in warning, hips starting to slightly thrust forward. Connor pulls back a moment later and does this _thing_ with his tongue that has Hank’s eyes rolling in the back of his head.

When Hank comes back down, a few moments later, he feels bone tired and more satisfied than he’s felt in a very long time. He watches as Connor takes his own hand out of his pants and pops his fingers in his mouth, sucking on them like it’s no big deal.

Hank groans, letting his head hit the wall behind him and lets the chilly October air wash over him, cooling the sweat he feels at his brow.

“Do you, uh-?” Hank tries asking if he needs help getting off, but it looks like that has already been taken care of.

Connor winks at him and proceeds to stuff Hank’s dick back into his pants, zipping and buttoning him up like he’s incapable of doing it himself. Is he, though? Hank tests his limbs and finds the sluggishness he felt a moment ago start to wear off already.

“This was fun,” Hank offers, in the silence of the next moments, and regrets it immediately. Jesus, Hank. _This was fun_? Saying it like he just got off of a roller coaster at an amusement park. So smooth, old man.

Connor seems to dig it though, much to Hank’s surprise. He gives Hank a little smile, showing a cute dimple at the corner of his mouth. “This was very fun indeed,”

He’s starting to back out of the alleyway, hands stuffed in his pockets. “I gotta go. But I’ll see you around, yeah?”

Hank nods, already planning all the ways he can avoid seeing the kid in broad daylight. “Yeah, uh, see you around.” And then he watches Connor disappear around the corner, presumably to catch another cab.

The rain has stopped, and Hank is about to make his way towards his car when he sees something glinting on the floor of the alleyway. He leans down to pick it up, and finds that it’s Connor’s rosary, slightly damp with rain.

“Well, fuck.”

He feels bad that the kid’ll probably notice it’s missing by morning, but he can’t just leave it out here. Someone would probably pick it up and try to sell it for a quick buck, because from the feel of the cross, it’s a pretty pricey one. Hank sticks it in his pocket, figures that if he ever runs into Connor again, he’ll give it back to him.

 

Hank wakes up with one bitch of a headache, but he figures that that’s what he gets, drinking way too much the day before he’s set to conduct again. He rolls over in bed, hand slamming against his alarm in hopes of getting it to stop yelling in his ear. Jesus fuck, he drank way too much.

Once he has coffee in his system, he’s able to take in his surroundings more. Like for one, Sumo has taken a piss near the fridge and is pointedly staring in the opposite direction, like the innocent fucker he is. And two, his dick is sticky.

Ah yes, the blowjob in the alleyway. How could he forget about that?

The answer is, he didn’t forget about it. He was pretty sure he had dreamed about the big brown eyes and sinful mouth. But nope, his dick was definitely reminding him that that had indeed happened last night.

“I’ll be virtuous from now on,” He muttered into his cup, like a liar.

But hey, no one’s perfect, not even priests.

 

 

In retrospect, Hank probably should’ve known better than to fuck someone who could possibly end up in his church. He should’ve suspected, by the rosary he found and his cathedral being one of the more popular ones in the city. But hey, you win some, you lose some, right?

He’s staring at Connor and Amanda Stern, who he’s assuming is the kid’s mother. He’d known the woman for years and she never mentioned she had a kid. She was devotedly religious, always coming in for mass and confession and never missing any community service. Hank wondered what she would think about her son hooking up with a priest behind a seedy bar.

Speaking of. Hank finally shifted his eyes from Amanda to Connor, who was looking very uncomfortable in an ill-fitted Sunday suit. The suit looked like it belonged to someone taller than him, way too loose around the shoulders and the pants needed to be hemmed. Connor was also pointedly looking straight at the ground.

Hank turned back to Amanda, offering the same warm smile he always gave everyone who walked through his church doors. She never returned the smile, not fully anyway. The most he ever got out of her was a twitch of the lips. It could’ve been a grimace, though.

“Father Hank, I’d like you to meet my…” She hesitated for a moment, and from the corner of his eyes, he could see Connor whip his head up. Hank didn't have time to unpack what any of that meant before Connor was speaking up.

“Son,” He finished for her, and it sounded rough like he had to force the words out of his mouth. “I’m her son.”  
Amanda didn’t say anything to that, instead, turning to look at Connor with a mixed look. The two stared at each other for no more than a minute before Connor turned towards Hank, and in what appeared to be a moment of defiance, extended his hand out.

“I’m her son, Connor,” He held Hank’s gaze, and Hank could feel the heat of it as he grasped his hand, palm warm and dry. “It’s nice to meet you, Father Hank.”

Connor was definitely mocking him, he could hear it in his voice. And as a response, Hank could feel his face heat up, even as he shook his hand and dropped it as soon as possible. A hand that had been wrapped around his dick the night before.

Fuck.


	2. I Feel Wrong

Forgive me father for I have sinned

 

I must confess it’s brothers with my eyes that I undress

 

Once a day I think about killing myself

 

I can’t carry on I must be strong even though it hurts as I sing this song

 

And I feel wrong

 

God it’s only love

 

God for how long will I feel wrong?

  
  


I Feel Wrong (Homosexuality, Part 1) by Glasvegas

  
  


“It’s nice to meet you, Father Hank.”

Hank barely hears the sentence over the ringing in his ears. He’s certain that this is God testing him and his ability to deal with Bullshit. Because there can be no other explanation for how shitty his luck is. Shit, now they’re staring at him because he hasn’t said anything for a solid minute.    
“Likewise, Connor. Thank you for joining us today,” He tried to maintain the guise of never having met the guy before, despite the fact that he had definitely put his dick in that mouth last night. Oh, God.

Hank cleared his throat, and his thoughts, and turned back to Amanda when she started to speak up. 

“Connor is going to be spending some time with me for a little while, so I figured I’d take...him to church since he hasn’t been in a while. Maybe it’d do him some good,” She turned to look at him, the same look on her face. Connor didn’t say anything but looked like he was repressing the urge to roll his eyes. Hank made a note to ask him about their relationship, later, if he ever got the time or the will to actually talk to him after everything. 

“I’m glad you brought him with you,” Hank was just going through the motions at this point, saying what he said to everyone who brought someone to Mass. “I hope it’ll bring some light into your life.”

Amanda looked pleased with that, even turning back to Connor as if to say “See? I told you so.” Connor looked torn between being nauseated and amused. 

“Thanks, I’ll...keep that in mind,”

Hank nodded, straining to keep the amiable smile on his face. “Now, if you’d excuse me, there are some things I need to attend to before Mass begins.”   
He didn’t wait to hear their goodbyes and quickly walked back towards the sacristy to gather his thoughts. With shaky hands he pulled out a small flask from the pocket of his vestment, knocking it back and swallowing a few mouthfuls of whiskey. 

What was he doing? He had a job to do, he had more people to greet and welcome, and he was hiding away day drinking. So this is what rock bottom looked like. Hank wiped a hand over his face, allowing himself to groan into his palm as he thought things over. Odds were, Connor probably wouldn’t be making a frequent occurrence at his church, unless the kid had a bone to pick with either himself or God. He wouldn’t have to see him every Sabbath, right? Right. He could do this. It’s just one day.

Hank heard the door being opened and looked up from his hand in panic, watching in disbelief as Connor practically strolled in like he owned the place. 

Hank sputtered for a moment, probably looking like a fish out of the water. “Y-you can’t be in here,” So eloquent, Hank.

Connor ignored the sentence and walked closer to the priest, eyes simmering with an untold emotion. 

“Father Hank Anderson,” Connor’s voice still sounded a little scratched up, and Hank felt his face heat up at the memory of nearly fucking that pretty mouth. Hank needed to do a lot of Hail Mary’s after this. “Catholic School me would be creaming at the thought of getting to fuck a hot, older priest.”

Hank winced at the vulgar language. “That’s not what happened-.”

“What exactly would you call me having your dick in my mouth?”   
Hank stepped closer. “Would you quiet down?!” He hissed, hands reaching up to grab Connor by the shoulders but thought better of it and dropped them. “You didn’t know, and I wasn’t going to tell you. Figured we’d never see each other again. Surely, you can understand that.”

“Hm,” Connor looked up at him, and Hank was hit with the image of them in the alleyway, soaking wet and drunk off of each other. This time, however, Connor was looking at him different. He was searching him for something, and Hank wasn’t sure he could give it to him. 

“How much do you have to hate yourself, to have this job, and have twinks suck your cock in your free time?” Connor smirked up at him and Hank felt a flash of anger go through him.

“You’re one to talk. How much do you have to hate yourself to remember to take your rosary off mid-fuck?” It felt good to see Connor take a step back, a shameful shade of red spreading across his cheeks. “Why did you come back here? To shame me for my choices? Well, my life and its shitty choices are none of your business. You ain’t exactly guilt free either, kid. Now, if you’d excuse me, I need to get ready for Mass.”

Connor stared at Hank for a long moment, and for a second Hank swore Connor could hear his heartbeat. 

“I came here to ask you if you’d seen my rosary, last night. I must’ve dropped it, in the alley.” Connor rolled his shoulders, looking down at his feet instead of Hank.

Hank huffed, shaking his head at himself. The audacity of this kid. “Yeah, I found it,” Connor’s head snapped up, relief painted on his face. “I don’t have it with me though, it’s back home.”

“When do you think you can get it back to me?” He sounded frantic like the rosary was worth a million bucks.

Hank gave him a weird look. “Before the end of the week, I think. I’m running a volunteering event at the women’s shelter a few blocks away. It’s on Wednesday, you can stop by and get it then.”

Connor nodded a couple times. “I’ll be there.” And with that, he was gone. 

Hank stood there for a few moments, staring at the door where Connor had just stood in front of not too long ago. 

He hadn’t known Connor for more than a day, but he already knew with frightening certainty that the young man was going to be a big part of his life. 

  
  


As Hank collected himself and attempted to gather his thoughts, he heard the singing of the antiphons begin. He closed his eyes, allowed himself a short prayer before heading out to face the masses. As he entered the main room in the cathedral, he could easily spot Connor, sitting in the middle rows, right next to Amanda. It was hard not to spot him, his freckled skin and soft brown hair. He looked like a modern-day angel, in comparison to everyone else. He made everyone else look mundane and bland. Hank couldn’t help but lock eyes with him and feel the shiver run down his spine at the knowing smirk he gave Hank.

It scared Hank, how something so meaningless had sparked something within him. It was a lingering thought in the back of his mind as he made the sign of the cross and recited the Penitential Rite. Hank’s eyes kept finding their way back to Connor, to the slope of his cheek and the way he blinked slowly as he listened to Hank’s prayers. It was comforting to know that Connor was just as captivated with him.

His mind was racing with thoughts of an unholy mouth as he moved on to prepare the altar for the Liturgy of the Eucharist. This was wrong. He was wrong. For doing this, any of this. Being in an unholy mindset as he prepared his prayer for the congregation. He needed to do something, anything, to relieve himself of the burden on his shoulders. He felt like an imposter, standing in a place where any holier man should be. His fight against the thralls of desire was weakening his resolve; he was losing. It terrified him that he wouldn’t mind losing it all if it meant he could have that gorgeous man in his arms. Hank, focus on your prayers, for fuck’s sake.

“Pray, brethren, that my sacrifice and yours may be acceptable to God, the almighty Father.” He could hear his own voice echoing out 

What exactly was he sacrificing, for a feeble fling? Was this feeble? If it were to end today, or tomorrow, or ten months from now, he had a feeling the impact would remain the same. 

He tried to keep a neutral face as he heard the congregation reply back. “May the Lord accept the sacrifice at your hands, for the praise and glory of His name, for our good, and the good of all His holy Church.” 

He watched Connor’s mouth as he recited the words, the way the soft flesh of his pink mouth rolled each word carefully. He watched Connor’s mouth smirk, soft and sweet and his eyes gazed up to look Connor in the eye. He was smug. He knew Hank was drawn in, as if by some invisible force. Fuck.

He kept eye contact with Connor for most of the Eucharist, through every prayer and recitation. It was addicting, being under the gaze of someone so beautiful. Maybe this was the Lord testing him, sending him a temptation to test his resolve. Did that mean that the Lord knew he had a type? Hank didn’t want to think too deep into that thought.

As Communion began, his heart sped up. He stumbled over a few words of the Lord’s Prayer, but luckily he was saying it with everyone else, and the mess up couldn’t be heard over everyone else’s voices. He was just one with the crowd for a moment, not an individual up at the altar, speaking for a God he wasn’t a hundred percent sure existed. If he did, the guy sure had a hell of a sense of humor, putting him the situation he was in. Hank hoped he was getting a kick out of all of this. Hank breaks the host, placing a piece in the main chalice before presenting the transubstantiation to the congregation.

He quietly cleared his throat before speaking up. “Behold the Lamb of God, behold him who take away the sins of the world. Blessed are those called to the supper of the Lamb.”

He looked out at the congregation, trying to avoid Connor’s gaze. “Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed.”

Hank receives Communion with a heavy heart. He should’ve gone to confession before this, cleared all his guilt and such. But that would mean another priest hearing what he did. He’d rather drown in his own guilt than admit what he did. The voice in the back of his mind warned him that this was definitely sacrilege, but he ignored it. God could deal with it for now. 

He moved to stand in front of the altar and watched as the first row of people came to stand in a line. 

He placed a host on the tongue of a kneeling young woman, waiting a moment before saying “The Body of Christ.”

“Amen.”

He placed the chalice of wine before her lips, watching as she took a small sip.

“The Blood of Christ.”   
“Amen.”

He looked up as the woman’s mother was drinking and noticed Connor moving to stand up as their row was summoned to approach the altar. Hank watched as Amanda roughly grabbed Connor’s wrist, stopping him on his way out of the aisle. Connor looked down at his mother, who was still sitting down. A silent conversation went on between the two, with Amanda strongly (yet silently) urging her son to sit back down. Hank could see Connor’s face pinch up in discomfort as his mom dug her nails into his wrist. Finally, the unspoken argument came to a head when he yanked his arm out of her grip and made his way to stand in line for Communion.

Amanda appeared furious for a moment before it simmered away to a dangerous calm, she stood up and followed Connor, standing behind him in line. 

When Connor approached him, Hank could feel his heart beat fast in his chest. It wasn’t his place to tell Connor that he probably shouldn’t be taking Communion; he had just taken it himself. They locked eyes for a moment before Connor went to kneel and Hank looked away to grab a host. 

Hank blushed as Connor brought his hands to a steeple underneath his chin, big brown eyes staring up at him. Hank swallowed hard, mesmerized as Connor opened his mouth, sticking his tongue out for Hank to place the host on. All the while maintaining eye contact, the cheeky fucker. Eye contact during communion was usually accidental, but there was nothing accidental about the way Connor was looking up at him, just as he did last night in the alley. Jesus fuck. This whole thing was too similar to the position they were in less than 24 hours ago. Hank really hated his life and the situations it put him in.

Hank placed the host on his tongue, watched as he closed his mouth and winked up at him.

“The Body of Christ.” Jesus, Hank’s voice sounded rough.

“Amen.” Connor didn’t sound so unaffected either, his voice coming out airy, almost like a prayer.

He held the chalice in front of Connor’s lips, the edge of the cup resting on Connor’s soft bottom lip. The pink of his lips held a nice contrast to the fading gold of the chalice. Hank could picture it perfectly, in his head, how Connor had flicked his tongue out to wipe a bead of precum away from the slit of Hank’s dick. How Connor’s gorgeous lips had wrapped around the head and sucked softly. He could still see the way the street light had illuminated the highlights of his pale face, long eyelashes casting shadows across a high cheekbone. He could still hear the soft sounds as Hank had fucked into the wet, velvet heat.

Hank took a shaky, watching Connor take a sip, trying not to think about the warm burst of air that fanned over Hank’s hand. Connor pulled back, the dark wine staining his pale lips red. His pink tongue peeked out to wipe his lip clean and Hank felt his jaw involuntarily clench. 

“The Blood of Christ.”

“Amen,” Connor held his gaze for a moment before standing up and walking back to his seat. Hank took a shaky breath and moved onto the next person.

  
  


Hank retreated back to the sacristy after Mass was over and after he’d done his duties and talked to those who wanted to speak with him. They looked up to him, said he was a bright beacon in the deary neighborhood, that he gave them their faith back. It all sounded like bullshit to him, but he let them have their hope. No harm in that, right? They didn’t need to know how he nearly drank himself to death every night, haunted by the ghost of his long lost son. People needed hope, and it wasn’t his place to squander them. Bliss in ignorance and all that.

As he was folding his vestment up, he heard the door behind him open quietly. He really hated that it only locked from the outside. 

Hank sighed, turning around to tell off whoever just entered but he stopped short. Connor was standing there, back pressed flush against the dark brown door, chest rising and falling rapidly. Hank could see faint tear marks running down his cheeks, dark eyelashes clumped together.

Immediately Hank set his vestment down on the long dresser that rested along the wall across from the door. He made his way to Connor, concern etched on his face.

“Connor-?”

Soon he had an armful of crying Connor, and he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms firmly around the young man. It was an instinct, to comfort him, to make sure he was going to be okay. Where that instinct came from was beyond Hank, and he didn’t have the time nor the patience to think about it in depth. 

Connor buried his face in Hank’s chest for a moment before pulling back sniffling. “I’m sorry, I just--my mom, she’s just so-.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Connor. Parent’s can be pretty shitty people.”

Connor laughed weakly at that, but his tears were still flowing. “No kidding. I know she’s never going to accept me for me, and I can live with that, as much as it hurts. I just wish she would stop actively trying to change me. I wish she would just let me be. I know I’ll never be my brother but-.” Connor cut himself off with a shake of his head, pressing his face back into Hank’s chest. 

Hank pulled back, holding Connor at an arm's’ length, just to really get a good look at him. “Connor. What are we doing? What is this? Before yesterday, we had never met before.”

Connor didn’t meet his eye at first, staring forward at a spot on Hank’s shoulder. “It doesn’t have to be anything. It can just...be,” Connor looked up at him, and Hank’s heart ached in his chest. “Two people who are hurting. We can help each other out.”

Hank took a step back, and then another. He shook his head. “Kid, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”   
Connor stayed against the door, staring at him with a look of annoyance. “Bullshit. I’m young but I’m not a kid, and I’m not naive. I see the same thing haunting you, you have the same look in your eyes. Like you’re always hurting. Like you live your life drowning in guilt. I know that feeling all too well.”

Hank swallowed hard but maintained eye contact with Connor. “So what? We just hook up with each other as a way of ignoring our real problems? Do you know the implications of what we’re doing? What that could mean for either of us if we got caught?”

Connor rolled his eyes and walked towards Hank. “You ask too many questions. If you really cared about your job, you wouldn’t have been at that bar last night. You wouldn’t have followed me out into the street. So, are you in or not?”

Hank should leave. He should go home and ignore that any of this happened. He would forget about Connor and Connor would do the same and they could both move on with their lives. Hank could get his life together; stop drinking, clean up his act, be the great priest everyone thought he already was. 

But Hank didn’t want that. Not at this point in his life. He had nothing going for him. He was a subpar priest in a shitty city filled with shitty people who didn’t really give a damn about each other. What did he have to lose? Besides his job, of course.

Slowly, Hank walked back towards Connor, crowding him against the door. Connor looked up at him in glee, a cheeky grin showing a pair of dimples on his cheeks. He was gorgeous; he really was. Even with tear tracks running down his face, his eyes were bright and oh so brown. Like melted chocolate or some shit. Jesus, look at Hank, being all poetic. 

“You have to be quiet,” Hank warned. “None of that shit from last night. We’re in a goddamn church, for Christ’s sake.”

Connor nodded reverently, miming a zipping motion over his lips. Hank rolled his eyes but felt a fond feeling tug at his chest. He ignored it. 

“Can you kiss me?” Connor asked, voice soft and quiet. “Please.”

How could Hank say no to that?

He placed his hands on Connor’s shoulders and noticed he was shaking. Was he nervous? He asked Connor so.

Connor shook his head, a soft smile on his face. “I’m not the one shaking. Are  _ you  _ nervous?”

Hank let out a shaky breath, shaking his head. He doubted it was very believable. “I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you, kid.”

It was Connor’s turn to roll his eyes, and he did it with a quirked eyebrow. “So, are you going to take the lead this time?”

“Are you going to sass me every time we do this?”

Connor muffled a laugh in Hank’s shoulder, pulling back to give him that dimpled smile again. “I guess we’ll have to see.”

Hank wanted to kiss the smile off his face, and so he did. Connor made a soft sound as Hank crowded him against the door, strong arms caging him in. Hank had to bend down slightly to reach Connor’s lips, and when he did Connor melted into the touch. Hank could faintly taste wine and salt on Connor’s lips as he licked into his mouth, the sweetest sounds leaving Connor’s mouth. He felt Connor’s arms wrap around his waist, hands dragging up his back to pull him closer. Hank’s body was flush with Connor’s, every part of him pressing into the younger man. It was addicting, feeling the lean lines of his body, being so close to him that he could feel every breath he took. 

There was a desperate edge to Connor’s kisses as if the force of them would take away whatever was going through his mind. Hank deepens the kiss, tries to help him forget, if only for just a moment. He can hear Connor try to muffle any sound that comes out of his mouth, biting his lip as Hank presses open-mouthed kisses down the column of his throat. Hank wants to mark him up, it would feel natural to do it. To bite red marks beside the cute moles Connor has littered everywhere. But it’s not his place. Connor isn’t his, and he never will be.

So Hank settles for soaking up every sound that leaves Connor’s mouth, body shivering as he feels nimble fingers pull at the back of his shirt. 

“Woah, woah, woah,” Hank pulls back, trying to keep his voice down. “Are we really going to have sex in the sacristy of all places?”

Connor stares up at him, a pretty blush covering most of his face in a way Hank hadn’t been able to appreciate last night. “Why not?”

It’s fairly obvious why they shouldn’t have sex in a supposedly sacred room in the cathedral. “Because-,” Hank needed to come up with a better excuse than just the sacred argument, because if Connor was okay with fucking a priest, Hank doubted he had any problems fucking in the sacristy. “The door doesn’t lock from the inside. Someone could walk in on us.”

Connor let out a soft exhale and left Hank’s embrace to quickly peak his head out of the door. A few moments later he shut the door again and grinned. “There is not a soul in sight. It’s just us.”

“Okay, but a janitor could be-,” Hank’s arguments were weak, and Connor knew it too. He laughed and shook his head, walking back over to where Hank was standing, huge boner evident in the outline of his black trousers. Connor noticed and raised an eyebrow.

“You think too much,” Connor noted, trailing a hand up Hank’s arm, a look of appreciation evident on his face. “Now, should I get down on my knees again, Father Anderson?”

Hank’s face almost immediately lit up like a tomato, bright red with embarrassment. “ _ Connor _ .”

Connor laughed out loud, throwing his head back and clutching at a blushing Hank. “I’m just kidding, but really. It is kinda hot that you’re a priest.”

Hank buried his face in his hands. “Oh my God. I’m starting to rethink this.”

Connor pulled his hands away, forcing Hank to look down at the beautiful boy in front of him. “No, you’re not.” He smiled and Hank sighed.

“No, I’m not.”

Connor seemed pleased with himself. “Good. Because I was thinking that this time,  _ you _ could be the one on your knees.”

All of the blood in Hank’s body immediately went to his dick, if it wasn’t all there already. Jesus fuck, the man was going to be the death of him. Fuck. He was usually always the one to take the lead when it came to shit like this, so why did he find himself willing to follow Connor anywhere he wanted to go? What was so damn enticing about him? 

Hank went down to his knees slowly, feeling the firm press of Connor’s hands on his shoulders. His knees were going to ache like a bitch for the next week, but he had a feeling it was going to be completely worth it. Hank reached up to remove his clerical collar but Connor stopped him, two bright red spots high on his cheeks.

“No, keep it.”   
Hank raised an eyebrow but dropped his hands to Connor’s waist instead. “I’m starting to think you have a bit of a kink.”   
Connor shrugged, but it was light-hearted. “Probably.” He took off his jacket, taking care to fold it gently before stepping away from Hank to set it right beside Hank’s vestment. “Before we, uh, get started. I should mention that I’m trans. So. Yeah.”

Hank blinked, thought to himself for a moment. “Is that why your mom tried to stop you from taking Communion earlier?”   
Connor laughed. “That’s what you’re focusing on? No disgust? No lessons in morality?” Hank stared at him, so Connor continued. “Amanda thinks I’m just furthering my path down to hell by taking Communion in an ‘unholy’ state. I’d tell her to mind her damn business, but I don’t think that would sit too well.”

Hank shook his head. “I’m not in a place to tell anyone how to live their life. I wasn’t born yesterday, but I know a lot about this world and how the worst thing a person can do is lie about themselves. It ruins your soul, not being true to yourself. God doesn’t care about shit like that, mankind does. And sometimes, mankind sucks ass.”   
Connor stared at Hank for a moment and started tearing up again. Hank cursed under his breath, thinking he fucked something up, and went to stand up. Connor shook his head, reaching out a hand to stop him.

“I’m fine, I just,” Connor shook his head again, trying to clear his thoughts. “It’s just frustrating, dealing with Amanda. The more time I spend with her, the more I get in my head about these things. It’s like I’m this, scared little kid again. Terrified of her.”

“She doesn’t have power over you anymore, you’re an adult.”

Connor laughed, a bitter sound. “I wish it was simple like that. I can’t just erase years of guilt and internalized hatred. No matter how much I ignore it while I’m away from home...it’s always there. Before I moved away, it was all I’d ever known.” Connor sighs, slumping down on the floor, back resting against the dresser. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to unload like that.” 

Hank does a quick shuffle on his knees over to Connor, wincing as he unfolds his legs and sits next to him. “S’fine. It was unexpected, but I can understand needing to let all of that out. I can’t pretend I know exactly what you’re going through. But I know a little something about guilt. I know that shit eats you up inside. ‘Specially if that shit’s been ingrained in you since you were a child.” Hank shakes his heads. “It’s fucked up.”

They sit there, next to each other, thinking everything over. Connor takes a deep breath, exhales loudly. “It really fucking sucks.” Connor sniffles, eyes red with tears as he runs a hand under his nose. “Sorry I ruined the mood.”

Hank chuckles, shakes his head. “Honestly, kinda forgot about that. It was probably a good thing that we both cleared our heads. We need to discuss this a little more.”

Connor nods. “Yeah. I probably shouldn’t be jumping on you every time I get emotionally compromised.”   
Hank winces. “It’s probably for the best if this isn’t a completely spontaneous sort of thing. Or at least we should both be in the right state of mind.”   
“Agreed.” Connor shuffles closer to Hank, shoulder pressed into Hank’s. It was a nice point of contact, safe and warm. Innocent almost. A nice contrast to all of their previous encounters.

“And no sex at church.”   
“Mm, I might disagree with you there.”   
“ _ Connor. _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My original plan was to have smut in the last scene but uh, slight angst was written instead? oops :-)
> 
> but in all seriousness, all of the comments and kudos I've received for just the first chapter of this has made me so damn happy :') honestly have never found such a loving community as the dbh fandom (especially all the amazing people on twitter)
> 
> if you want to keep up with when I update, or if you just want to hear me scream about Clancy Brown, my dbh twitter is @rkthottie !
> 
> Until next time xoxo


	3. Mother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a shorter chapter! I just really needed to set up the relationship between Connor and Amanda for the next chapters! I'm already half-way through the next chapter, which is significantly longer than this one!! 
> 
> As always, enjoy and thank you for all the love y'all have given this story <3 <3

_ Oh lord, won’t you leave me _

 

_ Leave me on my knees _

 

_ Cause I belong to the ground now _

 

_ And it belongs to thee _

 

_ And oh lord, won’t you leave me _

 

_ Leave me just like this _

 

_ Cause I belong to the ground now _

 

_ I want no more than this _

 

“Mother” By Florence + The Machine

  
  


“Where were you?” Her voice was harsh, full of unsaid accusations. Connor didn’t have the patience for it.

“I was speaking with Father Hank,” Connor shook the rain out of his hair, hanging his coat up by the door. 

“About what?” She was still standing in his way, arms crossed over her chest. He stepped around her, making his way to the kitchen to find something to eat.

“Nothing that concerns you,” It was the wrong thing to say, he knew that. But the day had already been taxing enough, he didn’t need his mother digging into his every movement.

“You’re staying in my house, what you do and where you are is my concern,” Her voice gave off poorly concealed anger. “It was your choice to come back home, no one is forcing you to be here.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Connor snaps, watches his mother’s anger increase tenfold. “I lost my housing and my scholarships. You were my last option. If you didn’t want me here, why tell me to come home?”

“Because I’m trying to help you!”

Connor slams the fridge roughly, staring at the family portrait right in front of him, a faded Disneyland magnet holding it in place. He wants to yell. Scream at the top of his lungs that taking him to church and praying with him every night isn’t going to help him. He wants to scream that it’s only hurting him. But he can’t find his voice. He’s lost in the picture of two young kids and their mother, all smiling widely, mouse hats on their heads. They look happy and naive. He longs to have those days back. 

Connor takes a deep breath, tries to ignore the ache in his bones, and turns around to face Amanda. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I know you’re just trying to help. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Really, I do.”

He lets Amanda gather him in her arms, the embrace feeling more like a vice than a hug. He tries to tune out her words of false comforts, of promises that things will eventually get better. 

Connor looks at her blankly as she pulls back and cups his face in her hands. He wishes he could know what she was thinking, what she was searching for in his face. He doubted she would find any answers. He let himself live in the fantasy, if only for a moment. That they loved each other and that life was okay. Niles would come home from school and ruffle Connor’s hair and help Amanda cook dinner. Their house would be warm and alive again.

But that wasn’t the case. Niles was six feet in the ground and Amanda wished that she still had her daughter instead of whoever was standing in her kitchen.

Amanda gently brushed a strand of hair off of Connor’s forehead, and he leaned into the rare touch of affection. Most days she couldn’t even stand to look at Connor, at who he’d become.

“I miss when your hair was long. It was so beautiful,”

Connor jerked back from her touch as if it burned, eyes flying open as he stumbled back. Amanda tried to reach out to him again, but he evaded her touch, eyes prickling with fresh tears. “Don’t touch me,” He warned, and he cursed himself for how his voice shook. “You don’t get to hold me and then say shit like that.”

He didn’t wait for her to answer, turning around and running to his room. With shaky hands, he closed his bedroom door, resting his forehead against it for a moment. He should’ve known better than to believe that his own mother was trying to show him love and acceptance. Connor felt like the naive kid he was all those years ago, thinking that coming out to Amanda would result in love and acceptance. He was dead wrong. He still regretted it. 

He could already feel his sanity being stripped away, the longer he stayed in this God forsaken-home. He couldn’t even call it home. It was a prison. It hadn’t been home since Niles was alive. The thought of his brother brought a sharp pain in his chest, and Connor whimpered softly, turning around to face his room. Amanda had tried to change it back when Connor let her know he was coming home. The walls were still a soft peach color, and she had tried putting some of his old clothes back up in his closet. It had only taken a single glance at the old dresses and shirts before he tore them down and threw them in the hallway, much to Amanda’s dismay. It wasn’t like Connor would fit in them anyway, so what was the point in hanging them back up? 

Amanda had always been an enigma, someone Connor never really understood. Try as he might, he’d never know what went on in her head. The amount of criticism she held towards her son. He knew he’d never be good enough for her, but he wasn’t asking for her to see him as perfect. Connor just wanted her love. Before, when Niles was still alive, Connor never felt the absence of her love. Amanda always loved and doted on Niles, and in return, Niles loved and dotted on Connor. That’s just how it was. When Niles died, Connor started to feel just how big the hole between him and his mother was. He realized he didn’t even know her. It felt a little too late to begin that relationship, so he tried to work with what he had.

It was hard, though, when your mother secretly blamed you for the death of her favorite son. Not only was he Amanda’s daughter-turned-bad, but he was in fault for the death of her favorite child. Connor doubted he could ever live up to the standard she held Niles at. Niles was perfect, even Connor knew that. He got the perfect grades, the perfect manners, the looks, got into the best college. He was everything Connor wanted to be. He was Connor’s entire world, and Connor was his. When Niles was proud of him, it helped him to forget that Amanda despised who he was as a person. It was easy to forget the hatred of a parent when you had a sibling that made up for it. 

God, he missed Niles. It was awful, being back in this house. The silence that haunted the hallways was deafening. He couldn’t even look at the door across the hall, where everything was probably still the same as it was five years ago. Law textbooks stacked on a simple brown desk, dark blazers still pressed and hung in an organized closet. Connor could close his eyes and still see it perfectly, every folded crease in the blue and gray comforter, a picture of him and Niles on the nightstand.

Tears stung his eyes and he banged his fist against the door, a muffled sob stuck in his throat. It wasn’t fair. Niles should be here, not Connor. He should be alive, going to school and living his life. Connor should’ve been the one--.

He shook his head, he couldn’t think like that. He couldn’t trust himself with those kinds of thoughts. Last time he did…

Connor sat on his bed with a heavy sigh, suddenly exhausted. 

What was he doing? He shouldn’t have come home; not that it was ever home. With Niles gone, the house hadn’t felt like home in a long time. 

Fuck. He needed a cigarette. But he knew if he smoked in the house Amanda would kill him. He didn’t need another reason for her to get on Connor’s case. 

If Niles was here, things would be easier. Connor regrets ever taking Niles for granted. His older brother always made sure to protect him, especially when it came to Amanda. Connor never really realized just how safe Niles made his life…

Connor dropped to his need in front of his bed, chest aching. He ignored his shaking hands, clasping them together and resting them on the bed. With a shaky breath, he looked up, signing the cross as he stared at the crucifix that hung on his wall. The dark wood of the cross seemed to get darker the longer Connor stared at it. Connor didn’t feel worthy, even on his knees. He felt dirty, an itch under his skin that could never be scrubbed away. He thought back to his first meeting with Father Hank last night, shaming coursing through his blood. What was he thinking? Fucking a priest at his mother’s church was a low point, no matter how ironic the situation really was. It had seemed like a decent idea at the moment, but as Connor knelt to pray, he couldn’t help the shame that came to him now. He was dirty. He had done a bad thing. Maybe he deserved it. He deserved to feel this pain and shame. It was his penance for being alive when his brother--his good,  _ holy _ brother--was dead. If this was his way to pay, he’d gladly let the shame eat him alive. 

Connor clasped his hands again, knuckles going white at the pressure. With bated breath, he began his prayer.

“Oh Most humane and adoring Jesus, Your endless grace and mercy flow forth. Before granting the gift of absolution To earnest repenters of sinful ways, You demanded a sacrificial compensation. For a wrongful act cannot be rectified Until punishment has been accepted. Yes, for the salvation of my soul, Jesus, You accepted the price of the Cross. Grant me the grace to remain free of debts, My heart remaining flawless before You, Making Your absolution truly worthwhile.”

His hands were shaking at the end of it, and he had a bad taste in his mouth. Connor wasn’t sure he’d make it to the bathroom if he threw up, so he stayed there on his knees, counting numbers and taking deep breaths until the nausea subsided. 

Niles was always better at praying. He’d always say evening prayers, much to Amanda’s approval. On the rare occasion that Niles actually acted like his age, he’d try to make funny faces at Connor while they prayed. Connor would always try to hide his giggles, but Amanda always found out and chastised the two for being disrespectful. At the moment, though, Connor didn’t care. It felt like they were equals; there were no favorites. They were just two kids, joking around. 

 

_ “We should go home, Connor.”  _

_ “To what? Mom yelling at us?” Connor flung an arm around his older brother’s shoulder, attempting to drag the taller boy down to his level.  _

_ “Maybe so, but at least we’ll be home safe and sound.” _

_ Connor took another swig of his beer, some of the malted drink spilling over the lip of the bottle and onto the sticky porch floor. “You’re a buzzkill, Niles.” _

_ “And you’re very, very drunk little brother.” _

_ The two boys were leaning against the porch railing of a dirty house, the party inside thumping away into the night. Niles could feel more than hear the bass of whatever pop song was playing. Connor had had a few drinks too many, and Niles was worried that he’d puke on the floor of his car. Not that it’d really matter if it meant that Connor still got home safe at the end of the night. _

_ The evening had started out messy, with Amanda and Connor delving head first into a fight that they’d had a thousand time before. It was the same thing, every day. Connor always had to fight to just be himself, and all Amanda wanted to do was save him. Connor didn’t need to be saved, and Niles felt a stab of guilt every time he didn’t stand up for his little brother. He wanted to remain amicable with Amanda, at least until he left for grad school after the winter break. All he had was a few more weeks before he could leave Detroit for good, and since his transfer was approved, there really was nothing holding him back. Except for Connor, of course.  _

_ He had thought about not coming home at all for the break, but Connor had mentioned wanting to come out to their mother during the break, and Niles knew he needed to be there as a mediator. He knew it was going to get ugly.  _

_ “Let’s go dance, Niles,” Connor began tugging on Niles' arm, but Niles was taller and stronger and he kept his place.  _

_ “Connor, no. We need to go home.” _

_ Connor whined, setting his beer precariously down on the railing of the porch. “Just one dance, please? Then we can leave.” _

_ Niles looked at his brother, took in his flushed face and glazed over eyes. “Promise?” _

_ Connor was drunk but just coherent enough to hold out his hand, pinkie finger extended. “Promise.” _

_ Niles sighed and reluctantly inter-linked their pinkies together. “You’re lucky I’m a pushover.” _

_ Connor grinned and Niles felt his heart soften just a little, not that he’d admit that to anyone else. “You’re the best! C’mon let’s go!” Connor dragged Niles inside, and this time Niles allowed it, watching as his brother disappeared into the moving crowd of people.  _

  
  


“Connor?”

Connor is startled out of the memory, a harsh reminder that he’s not in the past. He’s here, now. Alone. Connor lifted his head up from where it was resting on his bed, face wet. He quickly wiped away any trace of his tears and cleared his throat. “Come in.”

The door slowly opened and Amanda peaked her head in before opening the door wider. She stepped into the room, looking around to see what Connor was doing.

“I was just praying,” Connor offered, hating how the look of approval on Amanda’s face lit a fire within him. Deep down he would always want to make her happy, make her proud of him. 

Amanda sat down on Connor’s bed, ignoring the obvious look of annoyance coming from Connor. She looked around the room once more, taking in the posters on the all and the cross hanging on the wall adjacent to the bed. 

It was a tidy room, but it lacked any true personality. It felt more like a front, and it saddened Amanda, to see her child unhappy. When Niles was alive, her daughter had been so happy. The two children were inseparable, and it made Amanda smile whenever she saw them together. But that time has passed now, and holding her grief close to her heart would do Amanda no good. She needed to move forward if she wanted eternal happiness and glory. 

“You know I love you, right?”

Connor looks up from where he’s kneeling by the bed, cheeks still wet from crying. He doesn’t say anything, instead watches Amanda look at him, breath held tight in his chest. 

“All I want is for you to be happy, and to find happiness in God,” She doesn’t miss the way Connor flinches, looks down at the bedspread once more. Amanda doesn’t understand why her words hurt, how the truth can bring someone so much pain. 

“I’m trying,” Connor says, forcing the words from his mouth as if they’re burning him from the inside out. He leans forward, resting his forehead against her knee. Amanda sees the same, scared child that Connor had always been. She sees a child who runs to her, crying at a skinned knee. A child who would have to sleep with Niles every night because of recurring nightmares. Amanda offers solace in the form of a hand, gently running through short brown hair. She watches Connor lean into the touch, shoulders wracking with silent cries. Amanda doesn’t say anything, she doesn’t need to. Instead, she bows her head and begins to pray.

 


	4. Heartache Fetish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait, my mental health has been in the shitter. but I'm getting back into my writing!  
> lot's of smut with angst at the end! please heed the tags! stay safe and enjoy xoxo

_ You force my spirit down your throat _

__

_ And leave me by the roadside, dying _

__

_ Pulled apart by your grace _

__

_ It leaves a burning taste _

__

_ And now I got my tongue tied and tattooed _

__

_ You’re not in the room _

 

_ But you got me in a headlock _

__

_ Tied up, helpless _

__

_ Ready to be sacrificed and buried _

__

_ Love me, love me forever _

“Heartache Fetish” by Young & Sick

The peace of the cathedral was therapeutic. Its silence was deafening, and that’s exactly what Hank needed. He ignored the protest of his aging knees as he knelt in front of the altar, lighting the candles that were laid out. If Hank looked out to his left, towards the towering stained-glass windows, he’d be able to see the light filtering in, suspending dust particles in the air. The storms that had been hanging over Detroit for the past few days were finally leaving, allowing for a bright day. It didn’t take away from the bitter cold, but it was better than an overcast sky.

He has another hour until Confession starts, and then he’ll have to be stuck in a stuffy box for a couple of hours. God help him. Hank figured he’d get his morning prayers in before this day begins.

However wonderful the idea of praying had sounded in his head, kneeling before the altar brought a different reality. What would he say? Sorry, God, for the sodomy and homosexual behavior? Jesus fuck he sounded like his dad.

He didn’t have remorse, or guilt, about any of it. He’d lived on this earth for forty-something years. He’d seen the ins and outs of the church and knew that the higher-ups weren’t any more righteous then he was. No one was perfect and he wasn’t about to let the shame of sinning eat him alive. He’d let it consume him when Cole died; when he was forced to keep it a secret and mourn alone. He was done with the guilt. He’d felt enough of it to last millennia. Not that he was about to start living his best life, without any thought to the consequences of his actions. He didn’t have the luxury of that. It was too late for him to start over, a new career, a new place, any of that. Staying with the church was his best bet, however much he hated the hypocrisy of the institution. 

 

Hank was finishing up his prayers just as he heard the door being opened. Hank sighed to himself, rolling his eyes up to the heavens that whoever came thirty minutes early would be willing to wait--preferably outside. 

“Confession doesn’t start for another thirty minutes, sorry.”

Hank heard footsteps approach him from behind. “I was hoping that maybe you could make an exception for me?”

Hank froze up at the sound of the soft voice, and he turned around as best as he could while on his knees. Connor was a sight to see. The light is filtered in through the windows was highlighting his face, sharp jaw creating stark shadows on his neck. The dark bags under his eyes didn’t look horrible, to Hank’s surprise. How the hell could someone pull off eye bags? Connor offered Hank a soft smile, the corners of his mouth quirking up slightly.

“I hope I wasn’t interrupting you,” Connor sounded apologetic but Hank waved it off, taking a moment to get off his knees and face Connor. 

“I was just finishing up,” Hank appreciated the way the light hit Connor’s soft brown hair. “If you’re here for confession, I’m sure I could listen in for a little. Before anyone else comes in at least.”

Connor laughed, a sound as gentle as a wind chime. “I think I’ll pass on confession. I just wanted to see you.”

Hank wasn’t expecting the soft admission, and he felt his face heat up as a result. “Jesus, Connor. You can’t just say shit like that…” 

Connor seemed to like the reaction it got out of Hank because he smiled, soft and sweet. “Then I’ll make a note to do it more often.” Hank ran a hand through his short graying hair, feeling a smile on his face. Connor stepped into Hank’s space, tilting his head. Hank knew that look on his face. It was the same one Connor had given him, that night in the bar, where their worlds first collided. 

“We didn’t really finish where we started, yesterday,” Connor ran a hand up Hank’s chest, feeling his heart beat fast and hard. Hank gulped. “It’s too bad, I was really enjoying the sight of you on your knees.”

Hank couldn’t help the groan that made its way out of his throat, echoing along the tall walls of the cathedral. “I’m way too old to be on my knees all the time.”

Connor laughed at that, and Hank could feel it vibrate through Connor’s hand and against his chest. “Maybe we should make it so that no one has to be on their knees.” And with that, he grabs a fistful of Hank’s shirt and pushes him back towards the pews that line the aisle, ruffling his clerical collar in the process.

Hank reaches out to stabilize himself, hand grasping onto the back of a pew, a muttered curse leaving his mouth. “Connor--what are you doing?!”

Connor didn’t reply, instead directing Hank to sit down. He had an excited smile on his face like he was enjoying surprising Hank at every given opportunity. Once Hank was seated, Connor threw a leg over Hank’s and seated himself down in his lap. Hank sat there, still like a statue, for a good minute. He was trying to compute what exactly just happened. The sudden warmth and pressure of Connor sitting right on top of his dick was definitely not helping. The fact that Connor was now wiggling in his lap to get comfortable, a smirk on his pretty face, wasn’t helpful either. 

“There,” Connor announced, sounding proud of himself. “Now neither of us have to be on our knees.”

Hank didn’t say anything, staring up at Connor with something akin to awe. This boy was never going to stop surprising him, was he? Hank placed his hands on Connor’s hips, almost hesitant at first. Connor seemed to like it, smiling at Hank, arms wrapped around his neck.

That reminded him...he reached into his pocket, pulling out the rosary that Connor had dropped in the alley. Hank watched as Connor’s face lit up, joy spreading across his features as he took the rosary in hand.

“Oh my god, Hank, thank you.” Connor held the rosary tight to his chest as if he might lose it again. It definitely meant something to the kid, and Hank made a note to ask him about it later.

Hank shrugs. “It’s nothing, I told you I’d get it back to you. I’m a man of my word.”

Connor looks at Hank, a twinkling look in his eye. “This rosary means the world to me, Hank. I really do mean it, thank you.” Connor slipped the rosary over his head, sighing in relief as the weight of it rested against his sternum. He looked at Hank, smiling softly.

“Please kiss me, Hank.”

Hank didn’t need to be told twice. He eagerly pulled Connor in, their mouths connecting with a soft sound. Immediately, Hank is transported to a place that filled his gut with a burning that could only be soothed by the soft breaths of Connor. The young man was pliant under his hands, melting into his grip with an ease that would bring Hank to his knees if he wasn’t already sitting down. Connor tasted like cigarettes and mint and it was addicting. Hank wanted more; he  _ needed _ more. 

His grip on Connor’s hips tightened, and Hank soaked in the soft moan that sounded from his mouth, partially muffled by Hank’s own mouth. Hank could feel the tiny shifts Connor was making in Hank’s lap, and it was driving him crazy. They needed to slow down, or this would be over before it even started. Not that they had all the time in the world, they really only had 30 minutes before the first of a crowd came for confession. 

It felt easy, like breathing, to get lost in Connor. The man was electric: the way he moved, the way he tasted, how they slotted together like two puzzle pieces. It was hard not to get intoxicated on it all. Hank would gladly be a drunk if it meant getting drunk on this beautiful, beautiful boy. 

“Hank,” Connor already sounded out of breath, and it tugged at something in Hank’s chest. “Hank, I need-.”   
“What do you need?” Hank asked, eagerly. “I’ll give you anything, Connor, just-.”

“Touch me,” Connor’s voice sounded lower, his voice scratchy as he rutted against Hank’s leg. “Please, touch me.”

Fuck. How could Hank say no to that? Especially with the way Connor was looking, face flushed red. The color spread down his neck, disappearing into his shirt. Hank wondered briefly if that blush was full-bodied. 

Hank watched as Connor reached down to unbutton his jeans, pushing them down as much as he could while in Hank lap. Connor had on a cute pair of boxers, with little robots printed all over them. Hank chuckled and was about to point them out when Connor gave him a pointed look, the tips of his ears red in embarrassment. 

“Don’t.” 

Hank smiled, pinched Connor’s cheek to tease him. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m probably wearing boxers that have little puppies on them.”

This seemed to appease Connor because he loosened up a little and gave Hank a soft smile. “Really? I like dogs.”

Hank nodded, hands still on Connor’s waist. “I have a dog, a fat St. Bernard. His name is Sumo.”

Connor lit up adorably, eyes bright and wide. “Oh my god, really? Can I meet him someday?” 

Hank smiles at Connor’s reaction, a warmth blooming up in his chest. “I’m sure I can arrange something.”

Connor seems content with that and goes back to pushing his jeans down, wiggling more in Hank’s lap. Hank tightens his grip on Connor’s hips, gritting his teeth against the onslaught of friction he feels. “Fuck, Con. Stop wiggling, Jesus.”

Of course, this only encourages Connor even more. He stands up, leaving Hank staring up at him, appreciating the view. Connor finishes taking his pants off, kicking them to the side and sliding back onto Hank’s lap.

“Ya know we’re in a church, right?” Hank laughs out but doesn’t complain too much, with the way Connor is writhing in his lap. “What if someone walks in?”

“We have time,” Connor assures him, sounding way too carefree for someone pantless in a damn church. Besides, Hank is far too invested in this to stop. He’d rather not sit through confession with a fucking boner. 

And so they spend the next few minutes making out like a bunch of teenagers, and Hank is so hard it’s starting to hurt. He’s certain Connor knows this, and he needs to say something before he jizzes in the pants he’s supposed to wear for the rest of the day. 

“Connor, as much as I’m enjoying all of this, I really don’t want to jizz in my pants like a teenager,” and Connor laughs in response, a joyful sound that echoes off the tall walls of the cathedral. 

“I can fix that,” And Connor gets on his knees in front of Hank for the second time in the past few days. Hank is definitely not going to complain about it.

Connor is quick to make work of Hank’s pants, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his dark slacks. Hank watches in anticipation as Connor pulls his cock out of his boxers, licking his lips before closing his lips around the tip. Hank tries not to make a sound, but can’t help the loud rush of air that leaves his mouth. The heat; the wet warmth of Connor’s mouth, Hank wanted to fuck up into it. He doesn’t, though. He lets Connor set the pace, let’s him take what he wants from Hank. 

Lucky for Hank, Connor sets a brutal pace, definitely trying to get Hank to the edge as fast as possible. Hank isn’t going to complain, especially when he looks down at his watch and sees that confession is set to start in 20 minutes. 

Hank watches, mesmerized, as Connor bobs his head to take him as far as he’ll go. The tip of his cock hits the back of Connor’s throat and Hank can’t help but groan as Connor muffles a gag. Connor comes up for air, a thin line of saliva coming from his wet lips. Hank can feel his hips twitch, the temptation to thrust up getting stronger. Connor seems to sense this, because he lets out an encouraging moan, pressing his head down and bracing his hands on both of Hank’s thighs. 

It’s a sight to see, really. How Connor’s pink lips stretch around the girth of Hank, slick with spit. Hank can almost see his reflection in Connor’s eyes, everything he looks up to make eye contact with Hank. His eyes are so shiny, and the kid’s got this blissed-out look as if he’s on the receiving end of all of this. Connor takes one of Hank’s hands, placing it on his head to encourage him. Hank gets the message and gets to pulling the soft brown locks. It’s so easy, to make the beautiful boy bend. He’s so good for him, and Hank makes sure to tell him exactly that. 

“God, you’re so good for me,” Hank sounds like he’s out of breath, chest heaving like he’d just run a mile. God, he really needs to work out more. 

Connor moans around him, looking up at Hank with his big brown eyes. It’s easy to get lost in the motion, Connor bobbing his head down as Hank softly thrusts up. It’s intoxicating, better than any scotch Hank could drink. He feels close, really close. Connor picks up speed, and Hank is pretty sure he can hear the wet sound of it echoing through the cathedral. God this is so wrong. 

“Connor,” Hank warns. “Connor I’m close. I-”

There’s a sound from outside the church.

Someone is trying to get into the church. Hank can hear the door handle jiggling. 

Hank looks down at his watch, realizing in horror that his thirty minutes is up. Confession is supposed to be starting right now. How the fuck did this blowjob last thirty minutes?! Fuck fuck fuck. 

Hank ushers Connor to stand up, who looks moments away from bursting out laughing. He has absolutely no time to tuck his dick back in his pants. And so the two of them rush to hide in the confessional booth, Hank sitting down with Connor hovering over his lap, jeans zipped back up. Connor has a hand over his mouth, muffling the laughter that would definitely give them away. Hank huffs out a breath, pinching Connor’s side.

“Why the fuck are you laughing?!” This is far from a humorous moment.

Connor hiccups out a soft laugh, nose scrunching up cutely. “I just watched you shuffle to the booth with your dick out of your pants. Of course, I’m laughing.”

Hank let his head hit the back of the booth with a dull thud, which only made Connor break out in giggles again. Just then, Hank heard the cathedral doors open with a loud creak. Usually, Hank would prop the doors open because the handle had to be jiggled and turned in a weird way to be opened. He was eternally grateful that he’d chosen to leave them close this morning, or else whoever it was would’ve gotten an eyeful of his dick. 

Hank raised a finger up to his lips to shush Connor, listening as the person opened the other door to the confessional booth and slipped inside. Fuck. Hank made sure to stabilize Connor over his lap, away from his dick thankyouverymuch. The last thing he needed was Connor falling back against the door or bonking his head on the short ceiling. The booth was the last place for two people to fit in, but they were going to have to make it work until there was a moment Connor could slip out. Connor’s thighs fit snugly against Hank’s hips, essentially trapping Hank’s still hard erection between Hank’s stomach and Connor’s crotch. Great. Awesome. Hank prayed to God that his dick would just chill for a moment, but he doubted he was getting any mercy at this moment. Hank and Connor made eye contact and the confessor cleared their throat. Hank could feel the tension from Connor’s body, where he was trying not to laugh. Hank tightened his grip on Connor’s hips in warning, giving a look that said  _ no funny business. _ He doubted Connor would take it seriously. 

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was two months ago and these are my sins.” 

Connor is now wiggling in Hank’s lap, the rough fabric of Connor’s jeans rubbing against the tip of Hank’s dick. Hank roughly grabs Connor’s hips to still him, hard enough to leave bruises. Connor simply grins and motions for him to listen to the confessor. 

“I missed Mass four times, and I have lied 30 times.”

Connor makes a shocked face at the confession and Hank hates how it makes his lips twitch into a smile. How Hank is still rock hard, despite everything, is beside him. Maybe it’s the adrenaline. 

Hank suggests a penance of two Hail Mary’s through gritted teeth, trying not to make an obvious sound as Connor strokes Hank’s dick at an achingly slow pace. Hank can’t stop his hips from canting up into the soft grip, made wetter by Connor’s spit. He tries to pay as much attention as he can do whatever the guy is saying on the other side of the divide. Something about sinning no more (which is always a goddamn lie). 

At this point, Connor is full on trying to make Hank cum. And no matter how many pissed off looks Hank gives him, the kid is  _ not budging. _ Like a fucking man on a mission, Connor is hell-bent on Hank blowing his load in this booth like the fucking sinner he is. Because fuck the sanctity of the church, right? 

As soon as Hank hears the guy leave, Hank yank’s Connor closer by his hips.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? We’re going to get caught,” He hisses, tightening his already bruising grip on Connor’s hips. This only seems to excite Connor more.

“It’s fun, isn’t it? 

Hank shushed Connor, just in case anyone else was still in the cathedral. “We’re going to get caught. This is fuckin’ ridiculous.” 

“Oh lighten up, no one’s going to suspect that you’re in here fucking a twink.”

“I’m not-,” Hank shook his head, he didn’t have the energy to argue with him. His dick was still out and he still hadn’t cum yet. 

Connor tightens his grip around Hank’s dick, moving it in a slow and sure stroke. Hank tilts his head forward to muffle a groan into Connor’s shoulder.

“Connor--”

“Hank,” Connor sounded out of breath. “Touch me, please.”

Hank reaches down to unzip Connor’s jeans, trying not to let his arm cramp up in the small space. He manages to get his hand in Connor’s pants and into his boxers, and wow is he wet. Hank feels more than hears the shuddering little gasp that Connor lets out as Hank trails a couple of fingers across Connor’s labia and up towards his dick. Connor is inching his hips closer to Hank’s hand, trying to get more friction on his dick. Hank complies by gently stroking Connor’s dick between his thumb and forefinger. 

Connor’s hips jerked forward, a soft moan leaving his lips. It was hard not to make any noise. Not with the way the rough pad of Hank’s fingers were rubbing against the sensitive tip of Connor’s dick. 

Hank gently hushed him, raising his free hand to push two fingers against Connor’s pink lips. Connor immediately sucks the digits into his mouth, happily sucking on them in lieu of groaning out loud. Hank stares at the man in something akin to awe, moving his other hand to rest his fingers against Connor’s slick entrance. Connor moans around Hank’s fingers softly, staring down at Hank with his gorgeous fucking eyes. With a silent question, Hank teases Connor, running his fingers down along Connor’s labia and back-up to circle his dick, smiling smugly as Connor whines.

“Hank...please,” Connor’s voice is muffled by Hank’s thick fingers, but Hank still hears him loud and clear.

With gentle ease, Hank slides one and then two fingers into Connor. He watches, mesmerized, as Connor’s eyes roll up into his head. Connor’s tight and Hank can feel him fluttering around his fingers. It’s a sight to behold, Connor looks rumpled and dazed. His lips are still swollen and bruised from Hank fucking his mouth, eyelashes wet and brown eyes trained on Hank with something close to adoration. 

Connor is soaking wet, and it’s driving Hank crazy, the velvet heat surrounding his fingers. Connor lets out a high whine when Hank curls his fingers and Hank has to muffle the sound by putting another finger in Connor’s mouth.

Hank guarantees that someone else is going to come in for mass any minute now, so Hank needs to get this show on the road. But God. He wishes he could draw this out, really worship Connor’s body the way he deserves. Hank wants to hear every sound that leaves his mouth uninterrupted, just the two of them, with all the time in the world.

Unfortunately, the reality is a bitch, and he needs to make sure no one hears them. 

Just as the thought crosses his mind, he hears the cathedral doors creak open, the telltale sounds of footsteps making their way to the booth. 

“Shit,” Hank whispered. “You have to be quiet, okay? Or else I stop.”

Connor gave a frantic nod, mouth still stuffed full of Hank’s thick fingers. Hank kept up the slow pace, curling his fingers every so often, just to keep Connor on edge. All the while, Hank replied to the confessor on the other side of the wall. 

Hank could feel Connor’s slick running down his wrist, dampening the sleeve of his button up. Hank pauses the movements of his hand and watches in glee as Connor gives him a pleading look. Connor was close, and as soon as Hank heard the confessor leave, he sped up. He didn’t know how much time he had until the next person showed up. 

Connor buckled against him, biting down on Hank’s fingers.

Hank hissed, pulling his fingers out of Connor’s mouth, listening to his wet gasp. 

“Hank, Hank, please. Please fuck me.”

Hank curled his fingers, watching as Connor whimpered and squirmed in his lap. “I am fucking you.”   
Connor shook his head. “No, I mean. I want you to  _ fuck _ me.”

Hank’s eyes widen and he huffed. “Well, I don’t have a condom.”

“Back pocket of my jeans,”

Hank stifled a laugh. “Of course you came prepared. How am I not surprised?”

Connor smiled, rolling his eyes. “I know what I want, okay?”

Hank fumbles around Connor to fish the condom out of Connor’s back pocket, using his teeth to tear the wrapping. “This has to be quick okay?”

Connor nods enthusiastically. “Of course.”

Hank slides the condom over his cock, wrapping his hand around the base to steady himself as Connor grabs his shoulders and hovers over his lap.

It’s hard not to let out a loud groan as Connor slowly sinks down on his cock, tight heat clenching him. Hank grabs onto Connor's hips to help support him, watching Connor’s face with rapt attention. Hank could see Connor’s eyelashes fluttering, the dim light from the holes in the door shining through and casting shadows on them. 

“You’re beautiful,” Hank sounded breathless. “Fuck, Connor, you’re so beautiful.”

Moving in and out of the speckled light, Connor looked like an angel. Freckled skin flushed with exertion as he rolled his hips over Hank’s lap. Hank could die right there, and he would be satisfied. 

Connor tightly gripped Hank’s shoulders, leaving crescent-shaped marks through his shirt. “Hank...fuck, Hank, baby, stroke my dick, I’m close.”

Hank let go of Connor’s hip, using one hand to reach down and thumb against the erect dick. Connor keened, leaning into Hank’s touch with a desperate edge. 

Hank heard someone else come in and quickly placed his other hand over Connor’s mouth, silencing him. “Be quiet,” He mouthed, slowly thrusting his hips up. Connor muffled a whine and Hank could hear the heavy footsteps of someone walking towards the confession booth. Hank ground up into Connor, stalling his hips while he kept one hand over Connor’s dick and the other over his mouth. 

Hank wondered how long Connor would be able to stay like this, warming Hank’s cock while person after person came in to confess their sins. Would Connor tap out eventually? Or would he stay still and quiet, unmoving except for when Hank would thrust up into him to keep himself hard? Hank felt himself throb at the thought. He looked up at Connor, making eye contact with him. Connor raised an eyebrow, suggesting that he felt Hank move. 

Hank shrugged as if to suggest, “ _ Hey, can you blame me? _ ”

Hank went through the session, only half listening to the confessionary’s insincere prayers. Every so often, he’d roll his hips up into Connor, pressing flush against him. It was satisfying to watch Connor twitch and quietly whine in frustration. To watch him silently beg for something, anything to satisfy his need. Connor was dripping wet, a slick heat around Hank’s cock that squirmed with insistent desire. 

As soon as Hank heard the confessionary leave, he used both hands to grip Connor’s waist and lift him up, pressing him up against the dividing wall of the confession booth. There wasn’t a lot of space to work with, but Hank managed to pull Connor’s hips back and slip back in with a definitive groan. Connor let out an expletive, hands scrambling against the dark wood as Hank set a brutal pace. He was determined to make both him and Connor cum.

“Fuck,  _ yes! _ ” Connor wailed, the sound echoing throughout the empty cathedral. Hank grabbed a handful of Connor’s curly hair, pulling his head back to bite into the side of his neck. Connor moved to accompany the change in position, back arching nicely and further pressing his ass into Hank’s hips. Hank could hear the wood of the booth creaking loudly, the hinges of the doors rattling. He was so  _ close _ , he just needed--.

“Please, cum in me, Father Anderson, please--.”

Hank came with a shout, thrusting deep into Connor and burying his face into the crook of Connor’s neck. Connor was panting, still squirming against Hank’s softening cock. Hank reached down and stroked Connor’s dick with his thumb and forefinger, groaning softly as Connor quivered and came around Hank’s cock. 

They stood there for a moment, both of them panting and exhausted. The booth was starting to feel suffocating, the small space hot and stuffy. Hank stood back, pulling out of Connor with a sensitive wince. Connor shuddered, resting his head against the divider. He looked completely fucked out, hair messed up and face bright red from exertion. Hank pulled the condom off and tied it, setting it on the bench to be dealt with later. Hank gave Connor’s ass a soft smack, watching as the soft pale skin pinkened up at the contact. 

“You good?”

Connor gave a nod and a vaguely positive sound. “Just...give me a minute. I think you fucked all coherency out of me.”

Hank rolled his eyes. “This quickie doesn’t really count, let me get you in my bed. Then I’ll show you a good time.”

Connor’s face turned a darker red and he shook his head with a smile. “You’re too much, fuuuuck.”

Hank pulled his pants up, zipping his slacks and watching Connor do the same. “I wasn’t the one who called you Father Anderson.”

Connor shoved at Hank, laughing. “Shut up. I was caught up in the moment.” Hank pulled Connor closer with a grin. 

“Well, it’s hot.”

The door of the cathedral opened, the click of heels sounding on the linoleum floors.

“Connor?” 

Hank felt, more than saw, Connor freeze up at the woman’s voice. He recognized the voice from when he had been introduced to Connor’s mom, Amanda. He peeked through the holes in the door, watching the woman walk through the aisle. 

“Stay here,” Hank whispered into Connor's ear. “I’ll talk to her.” 

After making sure he was presentable enough, he ran a hand through his hair and left the booth, making sure to quickly close the door behind him.

“Ms. Stern, how can I help you? Confession is going to be ending soon.”

Amanda whipped around to face him, eyes harshly judging Hank up and down. “I know. I just came looking for my...son. Have you seen him?” 

“Connor? No, I haven’t. But I mean, I’ve been in the booth all morning.” Hank gave a good-natured smile.

Amanda didn’t return it. “He said he would be coming to confession. He’s been gone all morning.”

“He’s a young man, he’s probably out and about. I’m sure he’ll come around.”

Amanda stepped closer to Hank, seemingly sizing him up. Hank felt the hairs on the back of his neck stick up. The woman unnerved him. It was something about her, something straight edged. 

“Don’t think I didn’t see you two. At the last Mass meeting. I saw Connor go into the sacristy, where you were. Before he came back, he hated going to church. But now you’re here and suddenly he loves the church.”

Hank gulped, urging himself to not back down from her unblinking stare. “Maybe it’s just my teachings. Maybe they call to him. Surely you have no problems with that, Ms. Stern.”

“It depends on your methods of teaching. This church is infamous for it’s...less than ethical practices.”

Hank felt himself prickle at the accusation. “Your son isn’t a child. He’s a grown man. I don’t appreciate what you are insinuating.”

“My child isn’t even a man, not really. But I’m sure you’ve gotten close enough to know that, yes?” Hank coiled back, face burning red.

Amanda smirked. “That’s what I thought. I’ve been playing Connor’s games for long enough. I know his nack for becoming infatuated with older men. You should ask him about the teacher he got fired from his high school.”

Hank could feel his heart and thoughts start to race. He needed to get out of here. He shook his head. “Your son is an adult. He’s capable of making his own decisions.” 

Amanda let out a sharp laugh. “You truly think that? Do you even know why Connor came home? Why he’s not at college right now?” Amanda walked closer to Hank, looking up at him with cold eyes. Despite her shorter height, Hank felt like the smaller one here. “You don’t know a damn thing about Connor. You think you know him because he opened up to you? You don’t. You don’t know his darkest secrets, the things that only  _ I  _ can know. I’m his mother. I know his  _ soul. _ ”

Hank didn’t say anything, watching Amanda back away from him, never breaking eye contact.

“The fact of the matter is, Father Anderson, that you don’t know Connor at all. He’s vulnerable right now, and I won’t let an old pervert like you take advantage of him. He’s mentally sick, and unless you plan on fixing him, I suggest you stay far away from him.”

Amanda opened the cathedral door, casting one glance back at Hank.

“Have a nice day, Father Anderson.”

 

Connor slowly opened the booth door, peeking his head out. Hank stood there, staring at the closed door. “Is she gone?”

“Yeah, she’s gone.” Hank sounded hollow.

Connor approached Hank, reaching a hand out to touch him. “Hank.”

Hank moved away, shaking his head. “Don’t. Connor.”

“Oh, so what? Did you believe her? You know she’s lying, right?”

Hank let out a harsh sigh, running a hand roughly through his hair. “I don’t know, okay? I don’t know.”

Connor scoffed.

“I’m serious, Connor. Because she’s right--”   
“Are you kidding me--”

“Connor listen to me--”

“No! I can’t believe you, you’re just going to believe every word she said? She’s biased. She hates who I’ve become, she thinks I’m just some  _ sin-- _ ”   
Hank grasped Connor hands, trying to get him to calm down. “Connor. No. I’m not saying that. I’m saying that she’s right that I don’t really know you.”

Connor looked up at Hank, a hurt expression on his face. “Hank--”

“You’ve only been telling me the things you want me to know.” Connor opened his mouth to protest but Hank stopped him. “I wasn’t born yesterday, Connor. I know how these things go. This is just a hook-up. You don’t owe me your life story. I was stupid and too in-the-moment to think otherwise, to expect anything else from you.” 

Connor looked down and swallowed. “A hook-up. Right. Nothing more.” Connor pulled his hands from Hank’s grasp, giving him a weak smile. “I’ll see you later, okay? Take care, Father Anderson.”

The name rang hollow for Hank, and he watched numbly as Connor walked out of the cathedral. The door slammed shut, the sound echoing through the towering walls of the church. Hank was alone, and he had no one but himself to blame. 

 


End file.
